


The Perils of Domesticating a Vampire

by King_Of_New_Orleans (dracogotgame)



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: A marked lack of violence, Affection, FOR THIS FANDOM, Fluff, Humour, I feel like this is against the rules, Klaus is incredibly annoyed, M/M, Prompt Fic, What else is new, damon is a little shit, first fic, i wrote fluff, some blood but...come on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/King_Of_New_Orleans
Summary: In which Klaus is vexed and Damon is a rude house-guest.
Relationships: Klaus Mikaelson/Damon Salvatore
Comments: 22
Kudos: 196





	The Perils of Domesticating a Vampire

**Author's Note:**

> Last ditch attempt to get past writer's block. Please forgive the OOC, I am tired and hungry.
> 
> Written for the prompt:
> 
> "If I have to clean one more bloodstain from that carpet, I’m going to fucking murder somebody."  
> "Sounds a little counterproductive."

Contrary to popular belief, Klaus was not an unreasonable man. Did he have a few basic expectations from house-guests? Yes. Yes, he did. Because he was a _grown up_ who adhered to a certain code of conduct and if _he_ wasn’t exempt from the rules of polite society, no one was.

Some of his sired hybrids (the ones who hadn’t died under mysterious and bloody circumstances in the woods) still trailed the halls. Every last one of them — he noted with particular relish — had the good sense to give him a wide berth. He didn’t exactly credit the creatures with an abundance of intelligence but at least their survival instincts were thriving. Given his dark mood, it was probably a good thing for all parties involved. He did so hate making a mess.

And that, _that right there,_ was the social faux pas he intended to correct forth-fucking-with. Klaus growled under his breath, sending a few more hybrids scattering for safety, and stormed upstairs.

Did he ask for much? No, he really didn’t think he did. Loyalty. Adulation. Obedience. The demands of any king. And frankly, he’d been very liberal with all that — far more than was strictly advisable. 

Of course, the bar for Damon Salvatore was set abysmally low and as Klaus frequently reminded himself, he was grading on a curve. That said, his patience was starting to wear thin. Damon was testing him and it was becoming _very_ annoying very fast.

He could do without the loyalty and the obedience — no one had ever accused him of being unrealistic. He could tolerate the snark and the irreverence. He could even allow _limited_ access to his home and private quarters, if only because he preferred alliances over enmity and Damon could be an amusing enough companion when the mood suited him. Also, the man operated on the same principles as a housecat. At some point, it was just easier to let him have the run of the place.

And so Klaus, being the merciful, generous sovereign that he was, humoured their unlikely arrangement with minimal objection. But the very little he asked for in return — namely, a clean living space — was non-negotiable. 

His disdainful gaze followed the telltale trail of droplets up the stairs. The snow white Persian rug lining the halls — in hindsight, that may have been a questionable addition to a house frequented by vampires and hybrids — was flecked and stained, the blood soaking in to unsightly spots of rust. Those, Klaus thought with a twist of his mouth, would be murder to get out, pun not bloody intended. And sure enough, as he tracked the meandering path, he found that it led right to the door of his private studio. 

His _private_...seriously?

Okay, now he was more than just mildly annoyed. He was, dare he say it, _vexed_. The space where he painted was sacrosanct and Damon knew it. And Klaus knew that for a fact because he had threatened to disembowel the blighter should he ever set foot in there on more than one occasion.

For _fuck’s_ sake.

That was the last damned straw. He decided there and then that he was putting an end to this appalling breach of conduct. Enough was enough. 

They lived in a society.

So, he set his shoulders, swung the door open and strode in sans announcement. In mere moments, his suspicions were confirmed. At least Damon had the grace to pause his feeding. Klaus’s eyes narrowed as the vampire shot him a bloodstained grin before latching back on to the woman twitching in his arms.

The audacity.

“If,” Klaus growled, his tone dipping to convey just the right amount of menace and threat, “I have to clean one more bloodstain from that carpet, I’m going to fucking murder somebody.”

Damon snickered. “Sounds a little counterproductive.” His fangs retracted and the darkened veins around his eyes disappeared. Pale blue eyes greeted Klaus, sparking with glee. “And you,” he went on in an infuriating sing-song tone (that had to have played a part in Stefan Salvatore's descent into Ripperdom, Klaus was sure of it) “have never cleaned a thing in your life. _”_ He licked a strip down the girl’s throat. She squeaked in surprise and Damon’s teeth flashed in a sharp grin. His eyes flicked to Klaus again and his smile widened a taunting fraction. _“Nik.”_

Klaus felt that familiar pull in his stomach, a sensation he had become increasingly familiar with in Damon’s presence. He usually attributed it to an innate desire to separate the vampire’s head from his body, but there were times like now — when he was confronted with the stunning, disrespectful and deeply, deeply intriguing creature that was Damon Salvatore — when he was forced to question his real motives.

Now, Klaus firmly decided, was not the time to introspect. He was supposed to be making a point. 

“And she is?” he asked dryly, gesturing to the hapless blonde in Damon’s grip. It was a poor bid at distraction but the girl did catch his notice. Dark blonde hair. Tall and slender, almost lanky. Blue eyes, dazed and confused with the veneer of compulsion.

_Interesting choice._

“Delicious,” Damon answered, smacking his lips theatrically. “Care for a sip?” 

A tempting offer. Not half as tempting as its maker, though. Klaus hoped he didn’t look too amused as he sauntered forward and wiped a stray drop of blood from Damon’s smirking lips.

“Messy eater,” he accused softly. His thumb ghosted across Damon’s lips and trailed the ridge of his cheekbone. Damon’s eyes fluttered shut. A hum of deep satisfaction pulled from his throat.

 _Cat,_ Klaus thought with a traitorous rush of fondness. It was not enough to stem his irritation though. The ruined rug came to mind and he pushed a little, increasing the pressure of his touch just enough to signal his displeasure with Damon’s antics.

“You have a perfectly serviceable, if somewhat gauche domicile of your own,” he pointed out, his tone deceptively light. “If you insist on dining in, do it there.”

 _And stain your own damned carpets,_ he thought with admittedly bad grace.

Damon isn’t cowed, hasn’t been since the first time they met. And now, that they’ve progressed into what some might term a friendship, he’s become even bolder. Bold enough to smirk and swipe his tongue against Klaus’s thumb, catching the stray drop of blood before it trickles away.

“I like it here,” he replied, as if that justified his appalling behaviour. To his mind, it probably did, Klaus reflected thoughtfully. Damon wasn’t one for consequences. It was what led him to Klaus in the first place, with an offer for a truce after the Ritual. It was how all of this started. The late night visits. The occasional hunt together under the cover of dark. Bourbon in crystal tumblers and banter and playful threats that they both knew would never come to pass. Not now, not after...everything.

What kept him coming _back_ though...that was a mystery Klaus had yet to unravel.

“And why is that?”

Even as he asked it, he wondered if he really wanted to know. Plausible, reasonable answers flitted through his head. He was bored. He was looking for trouble. He was on the outs with his brother again and this was the best _fuck you, Stefan_ he could come up with.

Klaus disliked all of them vehemently.

“That,” Damon purred, drifting closer, “is for me to know and you to...dot dot dot.” His eyes are drifting as he speaks, trailing down the length of Klaus’s taut form. He’s inches away and still too far and this... _this_ is something Klaus didn’t expect. Oh, but he _likes_ it.

If this is why Damon keeps coming back, Klaus abruptly decides he can live with it. 

The pull of anticipation and desire tightens inside him — so _that’s_ what that is — and the affection he feels when he trails a hand down Damon’s perfect, pretty face is far more than he’s comfortable with. But he’s been operating on instinct since he met this man, this damning, perfect creature he’s never quite been able to subdue, and he’s thinking he could get used to it.

“Damon.”

“Hm?” 

Klaus chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear, enjoying Damon’s small gasp of surprise. “Send your little friend away,” he murmured, “before I rip her to shreds.”

Damon’s answering laugh is laced with sin and it makes Klaus want to throw him on the bed. But he allows the vampire to escape his grip for now, and watches with satisfaction as the nameless, _irrelevant_ woman totters away after a few smooth words. Still bleeding from her neck. Still dripping on his carpets.

For fuck’s sake.

“Oh, lighten up,” Damon snickered, slipping back into his arms like he belonged there. “Get one of your hybrid lackeys to take care of it.”

That was very much not the point. But it’s hard to dwell on it now. Klaus tightened his grip and Damon came to him willingly, obedient for once, as he’s led to the bed. Of course. Apparently, he _can_ be trained into docility, as long as he gets what he wants first.

Infuriating creature. One of these days, Klaus promised himself, he _would_ berate him properly.

For now though, he busied himself with a bruising kiss, electing to ignore Damon’s smug grin as he answers in kind. And for just a moment, he allowed himself the delightful distraction of a toned, taut body against his own. Damon’s hands curl into his sheets and his dark hair fans against the covers. He’s at home here already and it’s becoming increasingly clear to Klaus that denying him anything might just be impossible. Even for an immortal, all powerful hybrid.

Ah well, one battle at a time.

At least the carpets were safe for now. Everything else...well, that could wait till later. Much, much later.


End file.
